


Star-Rise

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Fourth Age, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marriage, Redemption, Remarriage, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-09 20:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: The house of Finwë is broken. More than half of them cannot stand the rest, and slightly less than half of them cannot even stand themselves. Last descendants of broken houses, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor find each other, and if a family grows back up around them, well, then that's just their good fortune.OrFingon and Gil-galad just don't know when to quit, but it's a good thing. Like father, like son.





	1. The Third Age

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Gil-galad for this. I didn't even ship this before I got half way through scene two, but Celebrimbor was just so darn sweet that neither of us could help falling in love.

Gil-galad opened his door to find his father standing on his doorstep. Fingon was dressed modestly, with his long, dark hair pulled tight to his head. He wore no jewellery, and looked not at all like a king. 

“I understand that I owe you congratulations.” Gil-galad said. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

His father clearly had heard it anyway. He looked guilty, as he should. He had just retrieved the kinslayer Maedhros Fëanorion from Mandos, after pleading for his life for over a century. In that time, he had rarely visited any of his own kin. Gil-galad, who had looked forward to knowing his famous father, had been upset to find himself so totally shunned in favour of someone like Maedhros Fëanorion. 

Gil-galad’s rudeness did not stop his father from being polite, saying, “Thank you. May I come in?” Gil-galad stood aside and allowed his father into the sitting room. It was a home designed for one, but at the insistence of everyone who had helped build this home, Gil-galad had made it slightly more welcoming than his original intention. Thus, there were sofas and enough chairs for around five people. Fingon waited for Gil-galad to choose a seat before sitting across from him. 

“Where is he?” 

Fingon looked at his hands for a long moment before answering. For a man famed for his courage, he seemed very nervous. “With Nerdanel- his mother. He offered to stay while I came to see you.”

Gil-galad bit his tongue before he could make a scathing remark about how generous that was. He knew that it was beneath him to be judgemental under these circumstances, but something about his father’s strange obsession with his kinslaying cousin had always irked Gil-galad. After all, this was an elf who was supposed to have been Valiant and good. But here he was, meek and more willing to spend time with Maedhros, of all people, than his own son. The two of them were said to have been close in youth, but Gil-galad did not think he would continue to love any of his childhood friends if they became three-time kinslayers. 

“And is he well?”

“As can be expected. It’s been hard for him to return, obviously, but he seems happy.”

The pause that followed was awkward. Fingon tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, and fixed his eyes determinedly on a spot behind Gil-galad’s head. 

Gil-galad broke the silence. “Was there a reason that you’ve come here?”

Fingon nodded. “I suppose there’s no easy way to say this. I’ve asked Maedhros to marry me.” Gil-galad blinked. Fingon, who seemed caught up in the rush of his own thoughts, pressed on. “We’ve been in love for a very long time, but it was simply never possible until now. First there was his father, and then mine, and then I was king and he’d renounced his position and then-“

Gil-galad interrupted. “My mother?”

His father had the good sense to look ashamed. “She knew about us. In fact, we had initially intended for Maedhros to be as a second father to you, while she and I would remain married. But as I’m sure you know, she has no intention of returning to this world. And remarriage is certainly possible, as Maedhros’s father would never let anyone forget.”

It was like everything that had ever failed to make sense about Gil-galad’s life had suddenly clicked into place. “Scion of kings,” he said, emphasising the plural. “I had always wondered why that was plural. I asked Círdan once, and he said it was because I was from the line of kings. But this makes more sense.”

“Maedhros didn’t approve of that. He thought it was both liable to reveal us, and generally a rather foolish name. On one occasion, he even suggested it sounded more like something his father would choose. He much preferred Gil-galad.”

“In the end, you chose both?”

Fingon gave him a small smile. “In the end, we chose both. Your mother insisted that if we would not agree on that, she would pick something truly dire and make us live with the consequences.”

Gil-galad considered this. Though he’d had both names all his life, Gil-galad was the one that had stuck. The history books and his friends alike called him by that name. Of all people, his father was the only one who always called him Ereinion. It was bewildering to consider that he had been named by Maedhros Self-Slain. 

“Can I meet him?” Gil-galad said the words before he’d fully considered the implications. His father stared. Gil-galad quickly added, “Not immediately. Just- when he’s ready. I think I’d like to.”

Fingon nodded, very quickly. “He would like to meet you. And I think that you would like to meet him. I know everything you’ve ever heard of Maedhros has likely been terrible, but that’s never been the Maedhros I knew. Maedhros is clever, and kind. He’s a terrible worrier, and sometimes he makes awful self-deprecating jokes that make me want to shake him. He’s deeply loyal and incredibly protective of those he loves.”

Gil-galad interrupted. “You love him.”

Fingon nodded. 

\--

“Hello,” Gil-galad said, and had the pleasure of watching Celebrimbor jump. He was striking in the evening light, as the setting sun reflected off his jewels and shone in his eyes. In this lifetime, he wore necklaces, and a stone in his right ear, but no rings. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” Celebrimbor said, voice severe but eyes laughing. 

Gil-galad apologized, and took a seat across from Celebrimbor. On this night, Gil-galad was a guest in his friend’s home. Already, dinner was laid out before them, on a table in the centre of the courtyard. Unfortunately, Gil-galad was very late, so Celebrimbor had long since begun to work to pass the time, drafting paper laid out before him. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gil-galad apologized as he sat. “I was speaking to my father.”

“I’m so sorry,” Celebrimbor echoed, a joke. 

Gil-galad shrugged, evenly, and watched as Celebrimbor’s dexterous hands served their dinner. “It was not so bad as all that. He was polite, and fairly apologetic for all the ignoring and such. And he had news. He’s to be remarried.”

Celebrimbor made a strange noise, in the back of his throat. “To whom?”

“I’d give you three guesses, but if you needed more than one, I’d be disappointed.”

“Maedhros.”

“Maedhros. Would you like to come?” 

Celebrimbor, who had a spoon in his mouth, choked. After a moment of coughing, he said, “I’m sorry?”

Gil-galad forced himself not to roll his eyes. “As an olive branch of a sort, my father suggested that I come to the wedding, and that I could bring someone if I wanted. There won’t be many people there. Probably just my father, Maedhros, Nerdanel, maybe Turgon or Finrod. The rest of the family would be too much trouble, likely as not. I’ve gotten the distinct sense that half of them disapprove of Maedhros and the other half disapprove of Fingon.” 

Celebrimbor laughed. “And you think that I’d make the affair less scandalous? Or at least that I wouldn’t cause trouble? What would my father say?” 

Gil-galad laughed too. Celebrimbor’s bright, ringing laugh was infectious. The image of Curufin, who Gil-galad had met once, and remembered as a slightly-conflictual and irritating man, scolding his son over not making enough trouble, was deeply amusing. In his mind, Celebrimbor stood like a boy, hands behind his back, looking ashamed to be kind and friendly.

“Something foolish and arrogant, no doubt. But I’m not inviting you because you’re well behaved. I’m inviting you because I can think of nobody I would rather suffer through the madness that is the House of Finwë with.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or not.” 

“Be flattered, and come to the wedding.”

Celebrimbor didn’t agree, but he did smile coyly, which was close enough. They sat in companionable silence for some time, enjoying their dinner. A couple moths flapped lazily past, their grey bodies like shades in the wind. The chirping of crickets began from a nearby field, breaking the silence, but not the companionship. 

“What else did your father talk to you about?” Celebrimbor asked, placing his spoon gently on the table. 

“How do you know that he wanted to talk about something else?” Gil-galad asked, deflecting reflexively. 

Celebrimbor gave him a skeptical look. One eyebrow arched high. “Are you telling me that you were an hour late for dinner because your father wanted to talk about his wedding?”

Gil-galad sucked in a breath through his teeth. Celebrimbor was right, of course. All in one breath, he said, “Maedhros named me Gil-galad, and was intended to be my second father. My mother knew all about it.”

Celebrimbor leant back in his chair, and then, after a second, he reconsidered. Across the table, long fingers wrapped themselves around Gil-galad’s hand. Gil-galad squeezed back, and reveled in the comfort. Celebrimbor’s hands were rough in places, but very warm

“This must be hard for you,” Celebrimbor said, gently.

“It’s more… strange than anything else.” 

Celebrimbor didn’t release his hand, but did loosen his grip, and continued. “I don’t know if you’ll want to hear this, but Maedhros would probably have been a good father. I’ve known him since I was born, and he had a way with children. Probably from having six brothers.”

Celebrimbor rarely spoke of his life before Eregion. Though he still wore his sigil, and kept to the craft his family was so famed for, years of being ashamed of his family were difficult to wash away. Any mentions that Fëanor or his sons gained from Celebrimbor were more likely to be critical than not. It was a contrast with Gil-galad, who had always been proud of his ancestry. 

“Would you tell me about him?” Gil-galad asked, and felt Celebrimbor’s fingers twitch on his. “About all of them, I suppose. When my father came to me today, I realized that there is so much that I don’t know, about our family, about our history.” When Celebrimbor continued to look uncomfortable, Gil-galad amended, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I know that you don’t talk about them often. But if you’re willing, I’d like to hear it.”

Celebrimbor withdrew his hand to nestle both in his lap. Gil-galad thought that he would be refused, but finally, Celebrimbor opened his mouth. “I suppose if I’m to be orderly, I should move in order from eldest to youngest. You don’t need my thoughts on Finwë, I suppose. He was good enough that you can hear the best of him from your own branch of the family. As for my grandfather, I don’t know what I can say of him. He and my father were close, and he was the first and greatest craftsman of all of us. He was a poor teacher of his art, though, and my father was his only real apprentice. My own mastery came later, after he was long dead, and my greatest heights were learned from perhaps the only more sinister source.”

Celebrimbor paused, and could not meet Gil-galad’s eyes. Standing, Gil-galad walked around the table, and knelt beside him. Once, a world away, Gil-galad had blamed Celebrimbor for his own misfortune, thinking him foolish and arrogant. Now he knew a rather different truth. Celebrimbor was, first and foremost, kind. 

“That’s not your fault, and to the extent it may be, you are forgiven.” Gil-galad told him, looking up from the floor. 

“Interrupt me now, and we’ll never finish,” Celebrimbor admonished, quietly, and continued. “Everything I feel about my grandfather is tainted by his legacy. He cursed his sons, and his paranoia and pride brought the world to its knees. Of those sons, Maedhros was eldest. He really is as tall as people say, and in his youth he was as handsome as well. I would say that you could divide Maedhros’s life into three parts. Four now, I suppose. His early life, Before, and After. And then now.”

“Before and After Thangorodrim?” Gil-galad asked, without thinking. 

Celebribor shook his head, in denial or in disappointment, Gil-galad did not know. “Before and after your father’s death. That’s just what separates his early life from Before. Don’t misunderstand me, it had an effect on him. I know that better than any. I experienced something like it. But, it’s not what broke Maedhros, not really. He was still a great leader, after Thangorodrim; though he was no king, he was a general. He rallied us. After, I couldn’t tell you much of him. If you really wanted to know, you’d have to ask him, or Elrond. Perhaps Maglor if he ever turns up.”

“May I ask a question?” Gil-galad thought ahead, this time. 

“Go ahead.” Celebrimbor clearly knew by now that Gil-galad was incorrigible in this regard. 

“Elrond?”

“Maedhros and Maglor kidnapped him and his brother when they were children. I never knew him to speak of it much, though perhaps you knew more. You two were close. I’ve long suspected that was on Maglor. Maedhros was good with children, but he would have been more likely to feel himself incompetent. He would probably have foisted them off on another family member, were he alone. You or me, perhaps, or even maybe Galadriel. Or he would have sent them to Círdan. But Maglor was compassionate. Deeply. You must understand that his skill is not overestimated. He was really as great a composer, a singer, a musician, as everyone says. He was a great warrior too, yes, but never that first, any more than my father or I were, and he took his craft very seriously. I don’t know what happened to him, after. I looked for him, discreetly, if only to see if he would be trouble, but I could never find him. Wherever he is now, I hope he’s well. Then there’s Celegorm. He was always quick. Quick with the bow, and quick to anger. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive him for Nagothrond. But of course, I’ll never know how much of that was his natural foolishness, and how much was augmented by the oath. That’s the trouble with rendering a verdict on any of them. Were they vicious, or were they what they were made? A sword can’t be vicious.”

Celebrimbor broke off, throat dry, and Gil-galad poured him a glass of wine. As he passed the wine, Gil-galad squeezed his hand again. During the break, Gil-galad also took the chance to move his chair around the table so that they could sit closer. Darkness had fallen now, and the stars were coming out. Here, they were bright, and the sky clear. 

“Caranthir was after Celegorm. I found him slightly scary when I was younger, because he could be quick to anger, and he was intimidating. He was a good friend to men and dwarves. I think he got on better with them than with any elf. I understood that in him, if little else. He’s in Tirion now, working as some kind of historian, I believe. According to Grandmother Nerdanel, it suits him. Then there was my father. He was, Valar- I loved him so much. For years, his opinion meant everything to me, and then after Nagothrond, and what happened with Luthien, I was so angry, because I knew that what they’d done was wrong. You would not think it possible to love and to hate one person so much. I remember we screamed at one another, we said horrible, horrible things, and I left him, and before I knew it they were just gone- him and Celegorm and Caranthir. And I knew I should have been relieved that the scourge of middle earth was lessened, but they-“

Celebrimbor, who had said the last two or three sentences in one breath, broke off. Tears streaked down his face, as his body was wracked with silent sobs. Gil-galad pulled him into a tight hug. 

“They were your family.” He said softly, finishing Celebrimbor’s sentence for him. Celebrimbor nodded, and buried his face in Gil-galad’s shoulder. Gil-galad was struck, not for the first time that evening, by how strong the love he carried for Celebrimbor had grown. 

They stayed like that for a long time, Gil-galad running his hands through Celebrimbor’s hair, and making soothing noises. When his tears had subsided, Gil-galad pulled back, and spoke again, “May I kiss you?” When Celebrimbor nodded, he gently pressed their lips together. 

“I think this has been a long time coming,” Celebrimbor told him, and then pressed in for a second kiss. 

Sometime later that night, when they had retreated inside, Gil-galad was struck by a very unpleasant thought. “We’re going to have to tell my father about this,” he told Celebrimbor. “How will I ever maintain an air of superiority around him now?”

Celebrimbor laughed so hard that he fell off the sofa. 

\--

They rushed the wedding. In tradition, they ought to have waited a year. Though of course, they would also, traditionally, have needed parental approval, so perhaps forsaking tradition was for the best.

Gil-galad met Maedhros a week after the initial announcement, forty-five minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start. For a scourge of Elvendom, he was quiet, and reserved. He stood very close to Fingon, but wouldn’t meet Gil-galad’s eyes. Gil-galad found himself thinking of Celebrimbor’s assessment of Maedhros, and tried to grant pity. In some ways, it was less awkward than Gil-galad’s meeting with Fingon the week before, because here, at least, Maedhros was present instead of being the sole topic of conversation. And seeing his father with Maedhros, strangely gentle yet protective, made Gil-galad feel unusually charitable towards them both. 

Then Celebrimbor arrived. He was dashing in formal wear, tightly fitted in a more mannish style. On the jacket, the sigil of the house of Fëanor was emblazoned on the breast pocket. But of course, it could be found somewhere on most of Celebrimbor’s garments, so that wasn’t surprising. The clothes themselves were a bluish-grey, while the band that restrained Celebrimbor’s long hair was silver. The sight of him almost took Gil-galad’s breath away. 

“Telperinquar,” Maedhros whispered, the second or third thing he’d said in the past half-hour. 

“It’s Celebrimbor now, uncle.” The admonishment was softly delivered, and Maedhros inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

Nerdanel arrived next, blessedly distracting Fingon before he could ask how or why Celebrimbor was there. The only other guests proved to be, very surprisingly, neither Finrod nor Turgon, but instead Lalwen and Anairë. Anairë should not perhaps have been such a surprise as she was. After all, she was the mother of the groom, and properly, representatives from both houses were needed. But on the other hand, Fingolfin was not there. Lalwen was far more surprising. She was considered something of an enigma among Gil-galad’s generation. Though her prowess in battle was legend, her death was a mystery, and on these shores, Gil-galad had seen her only once. She was said to be something of a recluse, living a private life just as Findis did, only with less prayer and more scaring off way-ward visitors. 

The ceremony itself was beautiful. Maedhros and Fingon both cried like children, and Lalwen, who was apparently there to be the officiant, gave a lovely speech about the nature of love. Gil-galad would not have suspected that she had it in her. The ceremony was held on Fingon’s land, and after its conclusion they all went inside for wine and dinner. It was not until almost an hour after the end of the ceremony that Fingon managed to pull Gil-galad aside. 

“Celebrimbor?” He asked, arms crossed suspiciously.

Gil-galad tried to shrug nonchalantly. “He’s my friend. And I knew that he wouldn’t make trouble. Besides, I figured that Maedhros might appreciate having the one member of his family here who won’t challenge you to a duel for his hand, or make snide comments behind your back. And if you make a joke about taking Maedhros’s hand, I will be justified in hitting you.”

Fingon, who had opened his mouth to do just that, closed it. After a breath, he said, “Maedhros did appreciate that. As did I. But something tells me that it’s a little more than that.”

Gil-galad shuffled his feet awkwardly, but met his father’s eyes with resolve. “It may be,” he admitted. “We don’t know yet. It’s something new. We’ve been building in that direction for a long time, I think, but it’s kind of a lot?”

Fingon smiled, slyly. “I know. I’ve been there. Wherever you go, I hope it brings you happiness.”

“And you,” Gil-galad told him, and they shared a slightly awkward hug. 

 

\--

“You must know,” Maedhros told Celebrimbor, looking down at him harshly, “that if you hurt Gil-galad, I will be forced to do something that both of us will regret.”

Celebrimbor, showing a peacefulness that must have come from his mother, put his hammer down calmly and did not take a swing at his uncle. “I could say the same to you. I’ve known Gil-galad longer, and he certainly has more reason to trust me than you.”

As though Maedhros didn’t already know that. “That was a low blow, Celebrimbor.”

Celebrimbor, voicelessly, lead Maedhros out of his workshop and into a small office, where he sat on the desk. Maedhros, not being offered a seat, chose to stand. He had been back from Mandos for a couple of months, and against Fingon’s saner council, had chosen to take this project on himself.

“I’m sorry,” Celebrimbor’s apology sounded genuine. “I know you had little choice in that matter.”

Maedhros let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’m sorry too. I know you care greatly for him, and making overtures as though you don’t is a disservice to both of you.”

“Then why?”

Maedhros, in truth, had mostly begun the conversation thusly because he felt that he’d been failing at some kind of basic responsibility without having made a vague treat towards his son’s unsuitable partner. But Celebrimbor had fallen into the category of ‘unsuitable’ for something which was entirely not his fault. 

“Your father.” Celebrimbor winced, understandably. Though most of Maedhros’s brothers now lived on these shores (all, save Maglor), talking to most of them had been like pulling teeth. Amrod and Amras only spoke to one-another, Celegorm spent all his time in the woods, and Caranthir had taken to writing histories of non-elven cultures, now spending all his time involved in scholarly debates. This last was both strange, and a great relief to Maedhros, who at last seemed to have acquired one brother who could be reasonably expected to manage himself. Though that it would be Caranthir was a great surprise indeed. 

“Has he been speaking to you?” Celebrimbor said this as though he was already expecting a bad answer.

Maedhros, for his part, could not help but smile ironically. “Of course not. I did see him briefly, by accident, when he came to visit our mother. But Fingon was there too, and Curufinwë would not so much as look at him.”

“Then why-“ 

Maedhros cut him off. “Because sometimes, Celebrimbor, I forget that you are not so young nor so easily influenced by your father as you once were. Sometimes, I still think of you as the very small, very clever child on my brother’s heels. Then I remember that you were a great lord in your own right. Moreover, you were the best of us, in heart as well as in your mind. I judge you on your father, despite your merit, which is not just. Certainly, I would ask not to be judged on mine, and I am of far less merit than you.”

Celebrimbor stared at Maedhros with clear eyes. It was a wonderful thing, to see Celebrimbor so well. Hearing of his death had rocked Maedhros, as much as one can be rocked by anything in the halls. For one so innocent, despite everything, to be so abused, was a great tragedy. But Celebrimbor had overcome. He had picked himself up, and forged a new life. That strength was one of Celebrimbor’s most impressive qualities. 

Neither of them spoke, for a long moment, allowing Maedhros to get a clear look at Celebrimbor. Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, he still wore his sigil, today in the form of a single earring. All of his jewellery, Maedhros guessed, had been made by his own hand. There were no rings.

“So, have you heard from your father lately?” Maedhros finally asked.

Celebrimbor shrugged noncommittally. “He did make an effort to contact me, a couple weeks ago. But then he heard from grandmother of my attendance at your wedding, as Gil-galad’s… friend, no less, and that set him off again. Such is life with Curufin. One moment, you’re his son, the next you’re cavorting with the enemy.”

“I hear that you don’t spend much time with the family. Save Nerdanel, of course.”

“Why would I? Of all them, the only ones who share my interests are my father and, of late, Caranthir. Though of course Father cannot stand that I spend all my time associating with Gil-galad and Celebrían, and Caranthir can’t stand father. It’s all a mess.”

Maedhros understood that. He’d been dealing with it since before Celebrimbor was born. “Do the others know that you and Gil-galad are… seeing one-another?”

Celebrimbor shrugged again. “Grandmother knows, of course, but I have no intention of telling father, and I don’t think Gil-galad wants to tell anyone before they have a chance to get used to you and Fingon.”

If Maedhros had had the option to wait for someone else to fall madly in love with a member of the house of Fingolfin before he had, Maedhros certainly would have let them take the fall. As it was, the anger of his family had been swift and surprising. After all, given everything, it should hardly have been a surprise. Maedhros and Fingon had been dancing around one-another, albeit discreetly, for millennia. Instead, Celegorm and Curufin had cut off contact entirely, while Amrod and Amras would only provide monosyllabic responses. Caranthir was still rude to Fingon, but at least it was no more so than usual. His change into a scholarly figure had gone him a lot of good. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” he told Celebrimbor. “But don’t go easy on your father. He’s not worth the time it would take you to fear what he has to say. I’m telling you that as someone who loves him very much. He needs to get over himself.”

Celebrimbor gestured towards a chair absentminded-ly, and Maedhros sat. Changing the topic entirely, he said, “Gil-galad told me that you regard him as your son.”

“In a way. Perhaps in some other world, I would have been able to be there for his youth, and would have earned that title. But I wasn’t, and I didn’t, so I suppose the nature of our relationship is up to him.”

Celebrimbor looked down at his hands, awkwardly. “Would you be willing to give us permission to court?” He said all of that without so much as taking a breath, and Maedhros had to hide a smile at such enthusiasm. 

“As much as it is in my power to give it. Be merry.” Maedhros stood, hugged Celebrimbor tightly, and, having accomplished his goal, left.


	2. The Fourth Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some time skips both within this chapter and between it and the end of Chapter 1, which mean that it runs during and after Out of the Dawn. I don't think it would be unreadable without the context, but it might be a little weird.

“Is there any particular reason that you didn’t tell me Maedhros was back?” Elrond delivered the question harshly, as Gil-galad deserved. 

“None of us were sure how you’d take it, so we didn’t want to be the ones to tell you,” Gil-galad told him. 

Elrond processed this information. “Who, exactly, is ‘us’?”

Gil-galad looked down at his hands, and Elrond reflected how strange it was to be reprimanding his friend and one-time king. “Me, Celebrían, and Celebrimbor. Fingon and Maedhros too, I suppose. And Nerdanel. And-“

Elrond cut him off before he could discover which other members of the population of Valinor were conspiring against him, ostensibly for his own good. He sat back in his chair, and met Gil-galad’s eyes. This home -and it was a home, not a house- of Gil-galad’s was surprisingly welcoming. Left to his own devices, Elrond’s friend could be withdrawn, awkward and solitary. But someone had left plants around this house, had built a strange and elaborate lighting fixture, and had left a book called ‘On Third Age Dwarven Architecture’ open on the table. Elrond had a sneaking suspicion that person was not Gil-galad. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” 

Gil-galad inhaled dramatically, and then paused. Elrond, long suffering, motioned for him to continue. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Anyone I know?”

Gil-galad nodded yes, and indulged in another unnecessary dramatic pause. “Celebrimbor.”

Elrond crossed his hands pleasantly in his lap. A second look around the room revealed a small, many-pointed star interwoven into the design of the light fixture, and the fact that the book had a number of marked pages, enough that it had probably been read more than once. 

Gil-galad, following his eyes, exhaled a laugh. “That obvious, huh?” He quipped. 

Elrond breathed a laugh too. Then, more seriously, he said, “I’m glad for you. He seems to make you happy. And though Celebrimbor was never a friend of mine, I liked him well enough. More’s the point, he was kind to Celebrían when she needed the support of friends and family, but was short on both.”

Gil-galad, with some relief, sat back in his chair. “We built to it for a long time, I think. In many ways, we complement each other. He doesn’t treat me like a distant king, and I don’t treat him like a traitor. And of course, he’s incredibly lovely.” Gil-galad said this as though he was speaking of someone famed for their beauty or handsomeness, a Luthien or Glorfindel. 

Elrond resisted the powerful urge to laugh at his love-stricken friend. Then, a thought occurred to him. “Do your fathers know?”

Gil-galad made a very unkingly face. “My father is fine with it. He’s not exactly in a position to judge me. He’s practically a symbol for choosing unsuitable partners of ill-repute. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Elrond. I like Maedhros well enough, but I’m fairly certain that there’s still ladies in Tirion fainting with the shock of hearing about such an unsuitable wedding. Celebrimbor’s father is another matter entirely. I’m fairly certain that he’s still not talking to Maedhros over marrying my father.”

“I hadn’t realized people would be so upset about Fingon and Maedhros.”

“It was quite surprising.” Gil-galad shrugged as he spoke. When Elrond gave him a skeptical look, he added, “But apparently, not to you.”

And of course, it wasn’t. Elrond had known of Maedhros and Fingon for most of his life. “Not to me. Maedhros told us some, but Maglor really told us most of the story. Though Maedhros says he didn’t know that Maglor knew. I’m inclined to believe that. Maglor was very good at reading people, and would probably have known without being told. You must have been very shocked”

Gil-galad looked at his hands for a second. Elrond thought the look that crossed his face might have been something like shame. “I was very shocked. And angry, for some time. But I’m no Fëanor. I’ll not begrudge my father his happiness. Maedhros has always been very kind to me, and he respects my boundaries. Not to mention that I, unlike Fëanor, am very fond of my step-siblings.”

Elrond, startled by this joke, laughed heartily.

\--

Celebrimbor, who had just returned from visiting with Nerdanel, who was staying with Maedhros and Fingon, seemed more pensive than usual. 

“What thoughts are rushing through that head of yours today?” Gil-galad asked, taking a seat at Celebrimbor’s side on the back deck. 

Celebrimbor, who had not noticed Gil-galad’s approach, smiled and leant against him. Gil-galad ran a hand through his hair and down his back. “I’m thinking of love, I suppose. While I was with grandmother, we spoke some of grandfather. We don’t talk about him much. But it just sort-of came up today. I think that she really loved him.”

Gil-galad resisted the powerful urge to point out the fact that they had had seven children. It was the sort of thing his father would have said, probably. 

“What makes you say that?” Gil-galad asked instead.

Celebrimbor looked down. “She was telling me about their courtship. All very traditional, rings and a year’s waiting and the like. And the way that she talked about it, she was still so happy to remember that she’d married him. Despite everything. I mean, sometimes I think she must hate him. She only just got Maglor back, and none of them are the same. He destroyed all their children, each in their own way. But the way she spoke of her wedding, of how happy she’d been to be able to say, ‘this is my husband’, for the first time, to just tell it to the whole world. And to be able to do that with their families behind them. I think she must miss him.”

Gil-galad ran another hand through Celebrimbor’s hair. “Would you like to get married?” He asked, and felt Celebrimbor stiffen against him. “That’s not a proposal,” he amended. “Not unless you want it to be, anyway.”

Celebrimbor shrugged. “Perhaps someday. I’ll tell you what, let’s make this a conditional agreement. We’ll plan to get married, but one of us can propose later, so we don’t have to tell everyone that you asked me to marry you because I was feeling sad about Fëanor. And then maybe one of us can come up with something more romantic. If you’re in.”

It was a very Celebrimbor sort of thing to do, but Gil-galad, who’d had an idea, felt that nothing could be quite so fitting for the pair of them. “I’m in. Now come, my conditional fiancé, I made dinner today.”

\--

Gil-galad knocked, first lightly, then twice very hard. Unanswered, he slapped the door open-palmed five times. After a moment, he raised his hand to knock again, only to have the door yanked open, revealing an irritated Curufin. 

“Hello,” Gil-galad said, trying to appear unperturbed. “I’m-“

“I know full well who you are,” Curufin snapped, and made to slam the door in his face. Gil-galad, having predicted this outcome, blocked the door with one hand. The ensuing test of strength was bitter, and highly pitted against him. Curufin had the better position, and was at least as strong as Gil-galad if not stronger. Eventually, Curufin won, but not before Gil-galad got a boot in the door. 

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Curufin asked, looking down at Gil-galad’s foot in the doorway. 

Gil-galad, unable to resist the quip, said, “Like father, like son.”

Curufin opened the door, releasing his foot. He was very classically Noldo in appearance, and Celebrimbor bore him a great resemblance. He wore his hair in a tight, practical braid, and was dressed for work. The only jewellery he wore was a sigil ring. Gil-galad, in contrast, had dressed to impress, emphasising his station. Any jewellery he wore was by Celebrimbor’s hand, which meant hair-pieces and a broach, but no rings. 

“I am here,” Gil-galad told Curufin, with all the confidence he could muster, “to ask you for permission to marry your son.”

“You’d better come in,” Curufin said darkly, and when Gil-galad didn’t move, he added, “Unless you’d rather do this outside.” Gil-galad, against his better judgement, followed Curufin inside. 

Curufin lived alone, for the most part. At regular intervals, Celegorm could be found here as well, but today, they were alone. Gil-galad had checked with Nerdanel, just to be sure. It was dark, inside. The windows were shuttered, and the house as a whole had an ominous air. At a gesture from Curufin, Gil-galad sat on a dark sofa, in front of a dark wooden table. Curufin leant over him ominously, and then, after a moment, opened the windows. Immediately, the room was transformed, into a very cozy home, with soft wooden furniture. 

“You can blame Celegorm for the furniture.” Curufin said, and Gil-galad almost thought he caught a laugh there. Curufin sat as well, in a high-backed chair. 

“It’s not,” Gil-galad told Curufin, “that I need your permission. Our marriage would be perfectly valid with or without it, and if we desperately wanted permission, my father is perfectly willing. If it was permission from Celebrimbor’s family, Maedhros would give it, as would Nerdanel, or Maglor. He’s back, by the way, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“I hadn’t.” Curufin said coldly. 

That was awkward. “Well, he’s as well as can be expected, I suppose. Given everything.”

“Given everything,” Curufin repeated, unhelpfully. 

“You know full well what I mean. Given everything. Given the oath, given having spent the last couple ages on a beach somewhere, given everyone else dying. We’re all as fine as we can be, given everything. For example, I’m as fine as I can be even though I sometimes have these horrible nightmares where I watch Celebrimbor get tortured to death over and over, and I can’t move, I can’t go to him. But I go about my day, I see the people I love, and I am as well as I can be. Despite everything.”

Curufin stared at Gil-galad, eyes piercing deep into his soul. “I had not expected you to be blunt.”

Gil-galad was unable to hold his tongue. “I rather think that you had not expected anything of me at all.”

Curufin opened his mouth, and laughed. It was haunting. “So, you don’t need my permission to marry, you say? Then why are you here?”

Gil-galad crossed his hands in his lap. “Because I’d rather that Celebrimbor wasn’t an outcast from his family for the next few centuries. You’ve only been talking to Maedhros for, what, a year? Celebrimbor is a good person. He’s kind, and generous in everything he does. You should be grateful to have him”

Curufin nodded, all seriousness. “He’s a good person, but not one with sense. He should stay well away from us, and be glad that we offer him the same curtesy.” Gil-galad, suspecting that Curufin had more to say, waited. “Why do you think we stay well away from each-other, really? We’re not angry at Maedhros, and though I can’t speak for Celegorm, I’m not even angry at Fingon. Or at least no more so than usual. But every single time we come together, us seven, we break things. We get one another killed, or we get each other’s partners killed, or we do horrible, horrible things to those around us. Celebrimbor got out, thank the Valar. Maedhros got out, thanks to Fingon, and Caranthir is pulling himself out inch by inch. And I hope that Maglor may be free from it too, and someday Amrod and Amras, though I doubt they’ll ever really trust anyone but each other. But for Celegorm and I, there’s no hope. Everything that I have ever made has come crumbling down around my ears. Well, everything except Celebrimbor. It’s better if we just stay well away.”

Gil-galad sucked air in through his teeth. This sounded like something he himself might have said, a time or two, behind Celebrimbor’s back. He’d probably said it to Celebrían, or Elrond, a time or two. A part of him wanted to leave. To acknowledge that Curufin was right, that Celebrimbor would be better off without his father, and go ask Maedhros or Maglor or Nerdanel for permission instead. However, in the back of his mind, Celebrimbor’s words on the night of their first kiss rang out. 

Channeling his years of kingship, Gil-galad spoke authoritatively. “That’s stupid. Your son loves you, despite everything. The idea that to have me, he might have to lose you, breaks his heart. If you believe, even for one second, that the rest of us aren’t haunted too, by the things we’ve seen, by the things we’ve done, then you’re a fool. This world is broken, Curufin. You’re broken, I’m broken, our family is broken. You said that Caranthir was pulling himself out; I say that he’s forging himself anew. That’s what Celebrimbor, and Maedhros, and I are doing, every day. We can’t undo the past, all that we can do is make the best of the time ahead of us. And you can start by coming to your son’s wedding, and seeing your brothers, and being kind to them.” 

Curufin opened his mouth. 

“That wasn’t a question. In fact, I expect to see you for dinner. Tomorrow, at my home. I trust you’ll be able to find your way.”

Before Curufin could get another word in, Gil-galad swept his way out of the room. 

\--

“Would you please just tell me what’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out.” Celebrimbor allowed just an ounce of pleading to seep into his voice. Gil-galad, absolutely oblivious, continued setting the table. He’d returned from a mysterious disappearance the day before announcing that they were hosting a dinner. 

“I think it’s eight places. Elrond and Celebrían, Maedhros and Fingon, Maglor, us- yes that’s everyone.” Gil-galad said absent-mindedly.

“That’s only seven, love. I know that you’re not this bad at mathematics.”

Gil-galad only muttered, “Yes, eight.” Then he left to go get wine glasses.

Celebrimbor returned to his cooking. This last task was baking, a very fluffy cake. In the kitchen, baking was Celebrimbor’s worst skill. It basically amounted to following instructions, with no room for the creativity that drove Celebrimbor in day-to-day tasks. He followed the instructions that day, as he had every time before, and lost himself in his mind. 

Gil-galad was worrying him. A week earlier, they’d made the decision to, at some theoretical future point, get married, but ever since Gil-galad had been acting strange. Then, yesterday, he had gone off somewhere, and had come back planning this mad party with seven invitees, but eight seats. Perhaps Gil-galad had simply forgotten to name Nerdanel. Yes, that must be it. 

Maedhros and Fingon arrived first, taking their seats and chatting with Celebrimbor. They spoke of Maglor, and his slow attempts to regain his dexterity. A few minutes later, Elrond and Celebrían arrived with Maglor himself, fortuitously reminding Celebrimbor to check on his cake. The seven of them enjoyed a wine Elrond had brought, and Gil-galad never removed the empty eighth place. Celebrimbor brought out dinner, and they ate, though Gil-galad now seemed preoccupied, looking towards the door and starting at small noises. Then, a knock came. As if pre-planned, everyone looked at Gil-galad, who stood and went to answer the door. 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Gil-galad told the person at the door, who replied inaudibly. Gil-galad laughed, almost harshly, and stuck his head into the dining room.

“Whatever you do,” Gil-galad told them, “nobody panic.” As though any phrase had ever inspired more panic than ‘nobody panic’. Then Celebrimbor’s father entered the room and all breath seemed to leave it.

Maglor dropped his wine glass, which shattered, staining the floor a dark red. Fingon stood without saying a word, and ran to get a cloth. Maedhros made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and gripped his fork so hard that his knuckles turned white. Celebrimbor found very suddenly that he couldn’t breathe, inhaling was a massive struggle only slightly more difficult than exhaling again. 

Surprisingly, it was Celebrían who next spoke. “You absolute bastard,” she said, eyes fixed directly on Gil-galad.

“Not that I know of,” muttered Fingon, returning. He was carrying not one cloth but three, and as he knelt to clean up the spilt wine, he gave Maedhros’s arm a comforting squeeze. Maedhros released his fork, and it clattered to the table. Nobody laughed at the joke.

“Maedhros, I owe you an apology. Possibly several. You too, Fingon. If you’ll hear them, I’ll try and get them in order. I think I can start with an apology for my unforgivable rudeness. Maedhros, I’m sorry for being so rude.”

“Who are, and what did you do with our brother?” Maglor said. Then he flinched, and Celebrimbor suspected that Maedhros had kicked him under the table. 

“Thank you, Curufinwë,” Maedhros replied, civilly. 

Celebrimbor focused on breathing, and let the conversation wash over him. It went something like this:

“And Maglor, it’s good to see you. I don’t think I have anything to apologize for recently, but I’m sure something will come up.”

“Probably.”

“What’s wrong with your hands?”

“They didn’t tell you that the silmarils burn at evil?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

Gil-galad cleared his throat loudly, and Celebrimbor looked up. Gil-galad suddenly seemed very calm, perhaps the calmest person there. Celebrimbor wanted to go to him, to bury his head in Gil-galad’s shoulder. 

“Telperinquar,” Celebrimbor met his father’s eyes, but didn’t bother correcting him. “I’m sorry- Celebrimbor. If you want me to go, I will. I’m here to make amends, but if having me here bothers you, I suppose that’s rather unconducive to amends.”

“I-“ Celebrimbor, much to his shame, choked on his words, and began to cry. In an instant, Gil-galad was holding him. He shuttered out a breath. “Why now?” He managed, and buried his face in Gil-galad’s dark hair. 

There was the sound of a chair grating on the floor as it was pulled out. Then Curufin responded. “You can thank Gil-galad for that. He convinced me that I was wrong about some things. And he told me to be here, so here I am.”

“Thank you, Gil-galad.” Maedhros said, followed by the sound of a chair scraping again. “Curufin, a word.” A second chair, and then the room was silent. 

 

\--

“What did Gil-galad say to you?” Maedhros demanded, the second they were out of earshot. 

Curufin looked down at his hands. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”

Maedhros used his height to his advantage, getting uncomfortably close to Curufin, and pulling his chin up to look into his eyes. They made eye contact for less than ten seconds before Curufin relented. Maedhros let go of his chin, and allowed Curufin to direct his speech at their feet.

“I told him that the real reason I stay well away is that I ruin everything I touch. Because every time we come together, we ruin one another.”

“That’s stupid.”

“And people think that boy isn’t your son- ah well, I was as fooled as the rest- Anyhow, he said that I was wrong, that our family isn’t something to get out of, that what we have to do isn’t to escape, it’s to rebuild ourselves and each-other. Then he told me that I was expected here, and, well, who am I to disobey The High King of the Noldor?”

“You never listened to me,” Maedhros noted. 

Curufin looked up. Maedhros thought he caught the glimmer of a tear. “Well, you abdicated, didn’t you? You’re Prince Consort at best.”

Maedhros laughed. Then, remembering where they were and what they were doing, returned the conversation to seriousness. “If I may give you some advice, from my own experiences, let Celebrimbor decide your relationship. Those boys-” Here, Maedhros gestured back towards the dining room, “- Are smarter than anyone gives them credit for, and certainly they’re smarter than we ever were. Let him guide you, and accept what he offers.”

“Thank you.” Curufin looked down at his hands again, twisting his signet ring around and around. It was not like him to be so cautious.

“Perhaps Maglor is right, you’ve been replaced by some Maia with a good grasp on your form and a poor grasp on your personality.”

Curufin met Maedhros’s eyes, finally. “I’ve been angry, and afraid, and shut away for almost my entire life. Even Caranthir and Celegorm are better integrated into society than I am. If there is anything consistent to my personality, let it be that I shall not be defeated by Celegorm.”

Maedhros laughed again, and, following an impulse, clapped Curufin on the back. Together, they returned to dinner, and with Celebrimbor’s permission, Curufin shook hands with Gil-galad and took a seat. They had made it through desert before Maedhros noticed that Curufin’s signet ring was missing. Maglor had likely noticed some time earlier, because he had been giving Gil-galad and Curufin suspicious looks. Fortunately, none save Elrond and Maedhros himself knew Maglor well enough to recognize that look on his face, and Elrond, for his part, was too occupied by worrying over Celebrimbor to notice. 

Maedhros managed to meet Curufin’s eyes, and raised an eyebrow. Curufin smirked. Gil-galad, seeming to have sensed that now was his moment, drained his entire wine glass, and tapped it with his knife. The resounding chime silenced the room. 

“Thank you for your attention. Now, I’m am by no means a trickster, but I fear that I may have inadvertently tricked all of you today. First you all believed this was simply a dinner, then a rather well orchestrated family reunion, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, that is also not the only reason you are all here today. I’ll show you why in a moment, but first a slight tangent.”

Gil-galad turned to face Celebrimbor. Maedhros saw him slip a quick hand into his pocket, and remove something, which he kept hidden in a closed fist. 

“Celebrimbor, do you remember the first time we met on these shores? It was in Tirion, and you were there to be presented to Finarfin, and I was there visiting with my maternal grandfather, and we literally ran into one another.”

Celebrimbor laughed softly. “I remember.”

Gil-galad gave him a loving smile. “You were so quiet then, but still so spirited. If you’ll recall, I immediately proceeded to stick my foot in my mouth, and made an absolute fool of myself. I won’t repeat what I said, though I was so thoroughly mortified that I’m sure I remember every word. But you were so kind to me. Though you didn’t excuse my foolishness, you offered me a second chance to try and explain myself. I didn’t deserve one, but you were so generous with your heart. Even after everything. I love that about you. I love you”

After a breath, he scanned the room and met Curufin’s eyes. “With your permission,” he said. Curufin nodded gravely. 

Gil-galad inhaled sharply, and Celebrían covered her mouth in shock. “Celebrimbor,” Gil-galad whispered, opening his hand to reveal Curufin’s signet ring. “Would you do me the incalculable honour of marrying me?”

Celebrimbor, who had been staring open-mouthed since Gil-galad had said ‘love’, burst into tears again, nodding as he wept. Immediately, motion returned to the room. Gil-galad was by his side in a heartbeat, Elrond and Celerbrían not far behind. Scanning the other faces in the room, Maedhros was surprised to see the same joy on Fingon’s face reflected on Curufin’s. Maglor, for his part, was balanced on the back two legs of his chair, looking very pleased. In another age, Curufin would probably have tipped the chair clean over. But this was a brave new world, where the grandchildren of all of Finwë’s sons were the best of friends. And now, Gil-galad and Celebrimbor were to be wed. It was a future far, far different than anything Maedhros could have imagined. Better, certainly. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot,” Celebrimbor choked out, holding Gil-galad’s hands in his. 

Gil-galad, to his credit, apologized. After all, it had been rather a great deal to spring on someone in one night. Even if it was all good things. Suddenly, in the middle of Gil-galad’s apology, Celebrimbor stood, and, without a word, ran from the room. The party, in shocked silence, glanced at one another. 

Then, before anyone could utter a word, Celebrimbor was back, hand clutched around something small and shiny. He shoved it at Gil-galad, who put his head in his hand, and begun to smile a stupid grin. 

“What?” Curufin demanded, glancing back and forth between them. 

Gil-galad held open his hand, revealing an extraordinary ring, all silver, curving and winding in graceful arches, with a sapphire set in it. Maedhros had seen its like. In fact, Elrond was wearing one at that very moment, one which had once been Gil-galad’s, as it were. Though even his untrained (despite his father’s best efforts) eye could tell that this was something truly extraordinary.

“I spend,” Celebrimbor said, somewhat recovered from his tears, “centuries not making a single ring. The last time I made a ring, it also ended up on Gil-galad’s hand- at least for a while. But I decide well, I love this fool, I’d like to marry him, and nobody’s exchanged the traditional sort of rings in a millennia anyhow, so it would be a real gesture to make one of my own. I labour away at it, relearning that aspect of the craft entirely, and Gil-galad manages to find the one craftsman who could show me up.”

Gil-galad looked up, confused. “Your father is the one craftsman who could show you up?”

Curufin laughed deep in his throat. The room turned to him. “No, my father is the one craftsman who could show him up. That ring was a gift, given to me on the occasion of my coming of age. I forgot it here, and only got it back when I returned. Though, if I may, Celebrimbor-“ he held out his hand and the silver ring was passed down the table to him. Taking it in hand, Curufin turned it end over end, examining the craftsmanship with a master’s eye. “This is one area where the student may have surpassed the teacher. Though best not repeat that in front of my father.”

Celebrimbor looked genuinely surprised by the compliment. Indeed, that surprise could be seen all around the table. Of the younger generation, none had ever heard Curufin offer anyone kindness before, while for the elder, they well remembered the great esteem- awe- he had always held for Fëanor. Maglor, still leaning back in his chair, bore a look of pride. It was a reflection of what Maedhros himself felt. Curufin’s growth was surprising, but wonderful. 

The conversation slowly resumed, Curufin speaking mostly to Maglor, becoming reacquainted with his brother. Maedhros did not speak, watching his strange family dance in conversation. It was the first time since- well, possibly since never- that he, Fingon, and Curufin had been in a room together without arguing. But now here they were, and here was Maglor, returned beyond even Elrond’s wildest dreams. Here were Celebrían and Elrond, united once more, true peers of heart and mind. Celebrimbor, finally rewarded with the love that he had long deserved, and Gil-galad, at peace with himself and his family. Maedhros loved them all so much.

\--

On the day of his wedding, Ereinion Gil-galad, former High King of the Noldor, fretted in his father’s living room. Elrond and Fingon sat with him. Celebrían, Maedhros, Curufin and Nerdanel were with Celebrimbor. 

“This is a foolish tradition.” Gil-galad announced. “We’re both in our fourth age on this earth, and here I am, sequestered with my family like some mortal maiden.”

Elrond shook his head. “Well, you’re the one who wanted to wait exactly a year for your wedding. Don’t blame us for trying to allow you the legitimacy you so badly wanted.”

Fingon, for his part, said nothing. Perhaps he had correctly guessed how poor a foundation any of his judgement would sit on.

All three of them were already dressed properly, Elrond in soft greens, Fingon in black with copper embroidery, and Gil-galad in a silvery-grey. It would have been no challenge to match any of them with their partners. Fingon’s hair was, as usual, highly elaborate, while Elrond and Gil-galad wore theirs down. Gil-galad assessed all of this methodically, trying to focus on anything other than his own mind. 

“Breathe easy, Ereinion,” Fingon told him. Periodically, he would use the name he had chosen for Gil-galad as a pet name of sorts. “The wedding is the easy part. It’s being married that’s hard.” Oh, because that made everything better.

“Helpful,” Elrond muttered under his breath. 

Fingon, perhaps channeling his more diplomatic half, reconsidered. “What I mean to say is that you and Celebrimbor basically already live together, you work together well, and you love one-another well. No matter how badly your wedding goes, it’s not what matters. What matters is that you’ll be married, and we already know that you’re going to be good at that.”

“I’ve invited the entire line of Finwë. Someone is going to get killed. This is all a horrible mistake.” 

Elrond laid a calming hand on his knee. “Easy, Gil-galad. You’re forgetting who you’re marrying. Sure, for anyone else this whole family would make trouble, but Celebrimbor? His family knows that he’s the best of them, your family thinks he’s wonderful, and Galadriel and Finrod have always liked him. It’s all going to be fine.” After a moment’s pause, Elrond added. “And if it isn’t, Curufin will probably start knocking heads together. And depending on who’s making the trouble, I may be inclined to help him.”

\--

“This is going to be a disaster,” Celebrimbor told Nerdanel, who was fixing the ties on his robes with terrifying efficiency. “I should never have let him invite everyone. And he really did, you know, invite everyone. He invited Findis. Neither of us have ever even seen Findis. Someone is going to get killed. ”

Maedhros, from where he stood behind Celebrimbor, gave an especially hard yank on his hair. “Why do you think that Fingon and I waited as long and married as secretively as we did? This family is half mad. And I say that as one who’s been more than half mad himself.”

“Maedhros!” Nerdanel exclaimed, standing to admire her handiwork. She gave her eldest son a harsh look. Then she turned her eyes to Celebrimbor. “It’s going to be fine, Celebrimbor. I promise. Celebrían and your father have everything perfectly under control, and now that I’m done with that thrice-cursed robe, I’m going to help them. This is going to be a good day.”

She left Celebrimbor in Maedhros’s care. His dexterous fingers wove braids in Celebrimbor’s hair, made skilled by years of experience. “I don’t mean to mock your worry,” Maedhros told him, “I know it well. But whatever happens today, remember what’s really important. Your husband-to-be loves you, your friends love you, and your family loves you. And we’re so proud of you, Celebrimbor. Don’t ever forget that.” 

Unable to help himself, Celebrimbor began to cry. Maedhros deftly finished with his hair, and pulled Celebrimbor close to his chest. They stood like that for a couple minutes while Celebrimbor regained his composure. 

“It seems like so much, sometimes,” he told Maedhros. “I feel so surrounded by love that I feel like I’m drowning in it. And I’m so happy, happier than I’ve ever been. But sometimes I just feel so-“

Maedhros nodded, understanding clear in his eyes. “It feels doomed. You feel like everything has to come crashing down around you, and that if you weren’t so attached, maybe it would hurt less when it does.”

“How can you stand it, Maedhros? How do you keep going?”

Maedhros shrugged. “I breathe. I talk to Fingon, to Elrond. I go on long walks, or runs. I try and remember that this is real, that it’s not a dream, or an illusion. Did he ever make you see things that weren’t there?”

They rarely spoke of this. “Sometimes.”

“But it was never quite right, was it? There would always be something a little off, after a time. A hint, a tell?”

Celebrimbor stared off into the middle distance. “He could never understand my father. That was always wrong. No matter what he created, Curufin was never right. I don’t believe he could understand that I loved and hated him at the same time, sometimes in equal measure.”

“And how is Curufin now?” Maedhros pressed on. 

“Impossible. Irritating, and loving in equal measure. Stupid, but in a giving sort of way. Sometimes I think that his biggest problem is that he tries to hold those he loves so close that he ends up strangling us.”

“Real?”

Celebrimbor considered this. “Yes, real. Changed, certainly, but real.” They stood in silence for a moment. Then Celebrimbor thought to ask. “What was it for you? What was never right?”

Maedhros was quick to answer. “Fingon. I don’t believe he ever knew about me and Fingon, or at least I don’t believe he ever understood that what we felt for each-other was neither mere lust nor simply friendship. And so when Fingon came, I- at first I was so afraid that he’d figure us out. Or worse, that it was a trap. But now, now I look at him every day and I know that the enemy didn’t make that.”

After a breath, Nerdanel stuck her head in the door. “We’re almost ready to start, Maedhros, Celebrimbor. If you’re ready.”

Maedhros looked at Celebrimbor, a slight smile gracing his face. Celebrimbor nodded. “I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they get married and everyone lives happily ever after. There is a scene of the wedding, which will be going in the "Scenes From" story shortly, but it was super tonally inconsistent with this story. 
> 
> What else?
> 
> Oh! I'm super grateful for everyone who stuck with me for this strange and surprising tangent into something I didn't even know I shipped until now. 
> 
> If you want to know what my writing music for this story was, it was Sufjan Stevens's Illinois. From that album, the song The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us is my Meadhros/Fingon anthem officially.


End file.
